


Acceptable Responses to Heat

by rispacooper



Series: That Bones/Criminal Minds Cracky Crossover Love Story [1]
Category: Bones (TV), Criminal Minds
Genre: Age Difference, Crack Pairing, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Flirting, M/M, Prequel, Sexual Identity, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-22
Updated: 2012-02-22
Packaged: 2017-10-31 14:44:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/345271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rispacooper/pseuds/rispacooper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So those times that Aaron mentioned in the first story, where Wendell tried to ask him out, super cas? Well here's the first one. OR, in which Aaron is obviously flirting and doesn't realize he is until too late. heh</p>
            </blockquote>





	Acceptable Responses to Heat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coffeebuddha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeebuddha/gifts).



> As I said, this is a snippet in the same cracky verse that coffeebuddha and I started. We are insane but don't care. These boys are sunshine and cupcakes and puppies!

 

“What happened?” Aaron waited until they were alone to ask; it was always best to ask potentially sensitive questions when someone wasn’t threatened by an audience. The others might have already asked; it’s unlikely that his team would have sat through the plane ride without asking about the obvious wound on Wendell Bray’s forehead, but Aaron had found the people would more readily offer the truth when they felt safe. 

It took no effort at all to project strength and assurance. Aaron knew how to talk to victims, how to stand straight to block out the world and convey the impression that he would never let anything else harm them. It wasn’t routine, because he meant it each and every time, but he stopped for a moment when he realized his position and reconsidered his thoughts from a second ago. 

Wendell Bray was not a victim that Aaron knew of, nor was he helpless. He was an educated and smart young man working for the federal government, if not as an agent, than as a scientist with ample experience around violent crime. But none of those facts excluded the possibility that he could be hurt by something in his private life, and that Aaron would not allow. Not in any member of his team, however temporary, and not with anyone he respected.

He stayed how he was, keeping his voice low and his body turned toward Mr. Bray, who automatically turned in toward Aaron when he spoke. It was an empathetic response that most people weren’t conscious of doing, and Mr. Bray wasn’t an exception because he didn’t move back despite the close position of their bodies. He simply tilted his head back the slight degree required to look into Aaron’s face and then reached up to absently touch the bandage taped over his hairline. 

The white tape flattened his hair which had been an exuberant mess every time Aaron had encountered him over the past few weeks. Aaron frowned for that though he couldn’t see any blood soaking through the gauze and he hadn’t seen Wendell taking any pain pills during the flight. The wound was at least a few days old; he should have switched to a smaller bandage by now. 

That no one was around Wendell to think to take care of his injury for him, or to remind him to, made Aaron’s scowl deepen and he took another second to smooth it away. 

“Oh yeah.” Mr. Bray dropped his hand and gave a small shrug. His sudden smile was as disarming as his words. “Just a little incident at a game the other night.”

“Game?” Aaron kept his voice level though he inclined his head with interest. Several explanations for the term ran through his mind, most influenced by the darker things he’d seen over the years, but Wendell only flashed another warm smile, this one tinged by something almost like pride. 

“I’m in an amateur hockey league. Ice hockey,” he clarified a moment later, perhaps misinterpreting Aaron’s moment of silence as confusion when in fact Aaron was picturing one of the rising stars of forensic anthropology strapping on a helmet and engaging in a game known for its physical violence for _fun_. 

He was surprised by how easy it was to imagine. Mr. Bray had a grin on his face now, one mostly containing victory and very little bloodlust, as if winning and not violence were his objective, though he had not flinched from a fight when one had been offered. Aaron had already known Wendell Bray to be determined—anyone wearing the cheap, worn clothes he wore while interning in such a prestigious field had gotten where he was through hard work and sacrifice and was still proving himself—but this seemed different. 

This had actually cost him blood and Aaron felt his frown returning. Wendell stared at him for a moment and then started to explain, twisting his body to mimic the action as he told the story. 

“The other night this asshole decides illegally body check me—to slam me into the wall, if you don’t know what that is—he’s usually a good guy, Riley, but he was being a total jerk that night, so I turned around hit him back, good and hard enough to get through his thick skull, and, well, it might have gotten worse if not for Booth. Booth always has my back.” Wendell smile altered, his eyes crinkled and his pupils dilated, all at the mention of “Booth”, but he didn’t pause to identify him. “Not that Riley hadn’t been shoved to the ice by then. His teammates are smarter than he is.”

“Booth?” Aaron heard himself asking, though Wendell’s personal life wasn’t his business. None of this was his business now that he’d established that Wendell’s head wound wasn’t serious. 

“Seely. Special Agent Booth. He works with Dr. Brennan when the government asks for her help.” Dr. Brennan was Wendell’s boss, and brilliant if her reputation was anything to go by and Aaron had no reason to doubt it. Wendell’s micro-expressions indicated the same level of attraction or worship for her as they did for Agent Booth. Aaron wondered if Wendell was aware of his feelings but didn’t want to ask. 

“You play hockey together?” was what he asked instead and then paused, because he should turn away now and get back to the case. Wendell gave him an odd look, as if Aaron had surprised him with the question or as if there were something strange in it, but after a beat, he nodded and looked up again. 

His eyelashes were the same wheat blond as his hair. The heat had him pink, and the heavy suit he wore while collecting evidence couldn’t help that. He was still paler than he had been when Aaron had first seen him, when he’d been busily examining the wreckage of a car for impact points that might have caused unusual bone fractures. Then he’d been glowing with good health and the sort of satisfaction people got from doing jobs they loved and doing them well. He had been a surprise, so young but so focused, sweating with the intensity of his labor but pleased with himself when he’d found what he’d been looking for.

Aaron shook off the memory and met Wendell’s vaguely distracted, wide-eyed stare. He should finish up and get out of the sun, Aaron thought but stayed where he was and didn’t indicate that he wanted Wendell to leave either. “He should have made sure you were bandaged properly. Are there stitches?” 

Wendell wet his mouth but nodded again. From his careful expression and the way he hurried to speak, Aaron assumed he thought he was in trouble somehow. 

“Yeah but I can work. It wasn’t even concussed. Head wounds bleed a lot so the rink’s doctor stitched me up. I’m fine now.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t.” Aaron cut in because Wendell had the calm tone of someone who’d had many head injuries before and Aaron didn’t want to picture it. “But you should switch it out for a smaller bandage now and let it get some air.” He realized he was scolding and flattened his mouth before offering a smile. “I have some experience with stitches,” he explained quickly, because next he’d be ordering Wendell to take a break and that was outside his authority. 

“Really? Like what?” Wendell didn’t seem in need of any rest. His expression brightened, easing into something friendly. Academics weren’t usually so open. It was a competitive field, full of risks. Wendell might not be afraid of risks, but he had to know they were there. And yet he offered warm, gentle smiles untempered by suspicion. It raised Aaron’s estimations of both Dr. Brennan and Wendell himself. 

Aaron opened his mouth, a stream of memories of cases, killers, bombings, things he didn’t want to talk about, behind his eyes. 

“I fell off a stage when I was in a play in high school,” he answered though he had paused so long that Wendell had to guess some of what he wasn’t saying. But Wendell’s head went back in obvious surprise and then his eyebrows went up, up just like his curving smile. 

“Really?” He looked delighted. Aaron knew the story of that might end up going around Quantico, but he doubted it would be believed. Only his team knew him well enough to find it plausible. The rest of the world seemed to view him only as the stern supervisor of the BAU. He nodded.

“Seven stitches. In my elbow,” he added with a straight face though he didn’t reenact anything the way Wendell had. It helped that the story was true. If anything, the way he said it made Wendell look even more incredulously amused. “I was trying to impress someone.” 

“ _You_ were a drama geek?” Wendell wasn’t laughing, but he could have. Aaron didn’t really mind, it _was_ funny considering what he did now. “You? But you’re so….” He trailed off, presumably because the word he was thinking of might have hurt Aaron’s feelings. Aaron had heard it all before, domineering, serious, intimidating, humorless. He waited anyway then shook his head to let Mr. Bray know it was fine, whatever he was thinking.

“Hot,” Wendell finished, startling Aaron into swallowing his words. 

_Hot._ The word itself was almost unfamiliar in this context. People around him, people his age, used words like _attractive_. Maybe _sexy_. Never _hot_ , unless it was Garcia. 

Aaron was no stranger to admiration. He’d received it from women and men frequently, though when he was working he knew a lot of was due to his rank and badge and the fascination they held for most members of the general public. He never acted on it at work. And outside of work…he’d been married, had considered himself married, for years. Even now it was hard to think of himself as free. 

Men were something he deliberately hadn’t let himself think about. He’d loved Haley with all his heart, but that had been one more thing she hadn’t understood about him. The fact that he’d never acted on his curiosity or desires wouldn’t have mattered to her. The insecurity she’d felt about her place in his affections that his job had exacerbated couldn’t have handled something like that. If he’d fully realized it before he’d married her, or before he’d discovered the BAU, it might not have been something he’d had to repress, but it was habit now, like looking away from the appreciative glances of the women jogging in the park. 

He realized he wasn’t speaking, that he hadn’t said anything for a few moments, and raised one hand. He stopped short of touching Wendell’s forehead only when he saw what he was doing and how it would be interpreted. 

“Tell Agent Booth to get you a smaller bandage,” he said instead of anything else. There shouldn’t be anything else on his face. He shouldn’t be reacting to anything. Wendell wasn’t acting as if calling Aaron “hot” meant anything to him. He ran a hand through his hair and opened and closed his mouth and then swallowed, but it was a warm day, he was sweating. He was probably thirsty. Those were all acceptable responses to heat. 

Aaron wet his lips and realized they were dry. His throat felt tight as he swallowed. 

“Why would I tell Booth that?” Wendell’s face twisted into a confused frown and then clear. His lips parted, just a little, just enough for Aaron to get the sense that there was more that he wasn’t saying. 

He was alarming easy to read. Someone ought to tell him how to disguise his responses better. But then, Aaron had never met anyone outside of his team who worked around death as much as Wendell Bray did and who still looked at each body as if it was his mission to know what had happened to it. “Speak for the victim” Wendell had said once, shrugging as if that were how it was done by everyone when he had to know it wasn’t. 

Whoever had taught him these things should be rewarded. 

“I apologize,” he murmured, not sure when the last time was that he’d guessed this wrong about someone. Wendell gave a small shake of his head. 

“No,” he paused to glance down, then back up. This time when he looked up, he was grinning softly. The look was unexpectedly _knowing_. Aaron felt himself tense. The faint pound of his heartbeat in his ears suddenly came to his attention, growing louder, faster. Wendell was still looking at him, evaluating him, and Aaron really ought to do something, say something, before this went any further. 

“No I’m not seeing anyone right now.” Wendell had come to a decision. Aaron could tell even before Wendell said a word. His grin was still in place, probably because Aaron was still staring at it, staring at _him_. The excuses or apologies weren’t coming out of his mouth. Nothing was. “In fact I was thinking when we get back that I should get out more. Maybe… grab a beer sometime.” 

Aaron took in one breath that was so dry that it rasped. A beer would have felt only right. 

He didn’t say that. He stared down at Wendell Bray’s face, at his _young_ face, and tried to spin his words into all their other possible meanings. Wendell was in his late twenties, early thirties at the latest. Old enough to know what he wanted but not enough to possibly realize how unsuitable Aaron was for him. He was older, divorced, with a child and a difficult job that drove most people away. 

If that was even what Wendell was after. His gaze was suddenly hotter on Aaron. It wasn’t gentle hero worship or the heat around them that was putting color in his cheeks and making the light reflect in his pupils. 

Aaron dropped his eyes and realized he was staring at Wendell’s mouth. He looked up again and imagined himself on a date, on any kind of meeting, simply having a beer, in a bar, with this man. 

“The detectives want to speak to you,” Dave’s voice broke into his thoughts and Aaron turned to him with more attention than the comment warranted. Dave’s eyebrows were raised; he wasn’t pretending to be casual or that he didn’t know exactly what had just happened. “That is, if you’re capable of speech at the moment,” he prompted with mock-innocence, though he kept his voice down enough that Aaron couldn’t be sure that Wendell had heard. 

Wendell jerked his head up to stare at Dave and then frowned before shutting his mouth. 

“Or maybe not. I have a lot of work to do, not a lot of free time,” Wendell pushed out, then smiled vaguely at both of them as his blush deepened before hurrying away. Aaron watched him walked back over to the grids of the scene, then watched him take a second to pass a hand over his bandage before Wendell forced his hand back to his side. Scolding himself, Aaron knew, doubting his instincts for having made the offer and then in taking the offer back. Aaron hadn’t meant to intimidate or embarrass him. He thought about smiling if Wendell turned back, but he didn’t look back. 

Aaron looked at Dave, who of course, studying him too blandly for the expression to be genuine. 

Aaron waited. Somewhere in the back of his mind where he’d pushed them, there were thoughts and feelings that had no place at a crime scene. Sometime soon Aaron was going to have to look at them, feel and respond to them. But not today. Not today, and it was too late anyway, the moment, and Wendell Bray, had gone. Aaron could hardly change that. 

Dave coughed. 

“If you have any questions, Aaron, we can get you a pamphlet,” he remarked silkily, keeping his voice low in that way that older agents did when talking about things that hadn’t been allowed under the Hoover administration. Aaron knew his face was flushed but said nothing, just frowned and waited some more. To be honest, Dave had been right, Aaron wasn’t sure he _could_ speak right now. 

What he should say, what he would have said to anyone else, was just a lump in his throat. There was absolutely no reason and every reason to say it now. He let his eyes travel back across the distance to find Wendell Bray again and felt Dave pat his arm. 

“You know where to find me… whenever you find your voice,” Dave added a second later before walking off, and Aaron thought about getting someone alone to get the truth from them, and then wondered how lost he must have looked while staring into Wendell’s pretty face that Dave had thought to treat him like a victim.


End file.
